Phobia
by blatta arrowhead
Summary: Roach has got a major problem and Ghost is gonna fix it. It's all in the bug's best interest.  T for swearing, I guess
1. Chapter 1: Shoot and Snooze

**A/N: **This was originally gonna be just one long fic, but after realizing that I was about 7 pages in and not at all halfway finished, I decided that chapters would be the best way to go. Even if some of them are actually really, really short.

:D

P.S. I like taking creative liberties with Roach. I really do. It's fun. It's my new hobby. You should try it some time.

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**Shoot And Snooze**

"All right, bug?"

Roach's eyes cracked open to stare at the wall, his back to the speaker. God, he did not want to move. The Task Force's last endeavors did a real number on him and he wanted nothing more than rest. All he asked for was sleep. Ghost apparently did not care for his needs. He never really did.

"Bollocks, Roach, get up. I know you're awake."

The Sergeant waited a few beats before turning to see the other man leaned forward with his hands on the bunk above as support. He tossed a half-hearted sneer. "I wasn't 'til you walked in." Ghost was silent for a moment, and then released one hand to glance down at the watch clamped around his wrist. "…It's five in the P.M. No sane bloke hits the sack at five." He contended, to which Roach merely turned back around and hustled the sheets higher over his shoulders. "Guess I'm a psychopath."

A slight scowl peeked at the corners of Ghost's lips as he reached over and grabbed the other man's shoulder, turning him to lie on his back. "Cheeky, are we? C'mon, let's go find a pub, chat up some birds. When was the last time you talked to a woman, eh? Before you enlisted?" He patronized, jabbing his friend in the chest. Roach smacked his hand away with a grunt and stared up at him, head heavy on the pillow. The last time he talked to a woman? It was a laughable question. The last time he even ventured around a female was so long ago that he couldn't even very well remember what she had looked like.  
But he would never say that.

Ghost grabbed at his shirt and yanked, dragging him up to plant his feet on the floor. "You need to get out, mate. Really. All you do is shoot and snooze. You're pale. You're also quite dull sometimes. That can't be good for you."

Roach grumbled under his breath and put a tired hand on Ghost's, shoving it away once more. "Last time I checked, you weren't my mum."

The Lieutenant offered a sharp smack to his friend's head and gestured toward the door. "'Nuff smarting off. Get something decent on and let's go."

"Gimme a minute to drown myself in the toilet, okay?"

It took another smack to convince Gary that he no longer had a say in this.


	2. Chapter 2: He Wants To Go Home

**He Wants To Go Home  
**

Words could not describe how uncomfortable he was.

Roach sat rooted to his bar stool, legs tangled around the pole sustaining the seat and hands wrapped securely around his ale. He kept his eyes forward, staring into his distorted reflection in the bottles ahead. In some spots, his head was twisted in an 'S' shape and he began to imagine just how preferable having his head shaped in such a way was compared to the current situation when Ghost floated up (yes, floated) beside him and elbowed him in the ribs.

"The bloody hell are you doing just sitting here? I didn't take you out just so you could plant your arse in a stool and hope to fuse with it." He said with a smirk, turning to look over his shoulder and then back at his friend. "Lookit. Bet you miss seeing things like that, eh?" The Sergeant, against all better judgment, decided to humor his higher-up by turning and addressing what he was talking about.

There was a rather attractive woman standing across the bar, chatting it up with another bunch of attractive women. Blonde, brunette, redhead; god, there were so many. Huge breasts, curvy legs, swaying hips, plump lips—Roach's breath hitched and his grip tightened significantly on his drink, though not for the reasons most would think of.

Ghost took the other man's silence and incredulous eyes as a good sign and put a hand on the back of his neck, steering him off the stool and directing him toward the gaggle of females. Roach jumped back into reality just before he crossed the halfway point and stuck his heels in the wooden floor in a defiant move that silently screamed "goddamnit, Ghost, _back the fuck up."_  
He stumbled backwards a bit against the Lieutenant's hand, amber liquid sloshing over the edge of his glass.

"What's the problem now?" Ghost asked, a touch of impatience in his voice. Roach shook his head and attempted a step back, only to be stopped by his teammate. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and repeated the process a couple more times before finally managing to spit out a jumble of words. Simon's brow furrowed as he stared, head inclined. "You're going to have to repeat that, mate, all I heard was blubbershite."

Roach inwardly cringed when he was pushed another inch forward, turning and putting a hand on Ghost's forearm in a death grip. "I'm not going over there." He said through clenched teeth, digging his nails into the other man's arm. The brunette cursed under his breath and pried the Sergeant's hand from his skin. "Calm down, bug. You'll get over your nerves once you go over and at least give a little hello."

With that and a little forceful shoving (perhaps too much so—Roach nearly tripped over himself a few times), he managed to goad the blonde man up to the group and stopped, offering a smile at the women that turned to address their sudden appearance. "Evening, birds. My friend here would like—"

He cut off at the sound of shattering glass, sharing a bewildered expression with the rest of the bar occupants in the vicinity when he saw alcohol and blood trickling down Gary's arm and shards of glass scattered at their feet. Ghost turned his eyes up to his ally's face and cocked a brow at the odd mix of emotions he wore, turning to the women and waving a dismissive hand. "Forgive the bloke, he's just…" He paused to formulate an excuse, something to save Roach's chances with at least one of these girls. "…Overwhelmed by your collective beauty."

It seemed to work well enough as a pair of women approached the frozen Sergeant with some kind of concern (or whatever females called swishing their hips and subtly brushing their cans against a man). Ghost smiled to himself, turned around and convinced that he had done his part for the night until he heard an earsplitting shriek behind him.

He snapped back toward the sound and caught what he assumed was the one that screamed and observed her face; trickling liquid, specks of blood, and a look of discontented pain.

'_Bloody hell, he punched a woman.'_

Ghost was quick to catch the frenzied blonde before he could get another solid hit at a woman. He wrapped his arms around Gary's and hugged him tightly to himself as he dragged him away, ignoring the violent kicking and thrashing to the best of his abilities. There was nothing he could do about the shouting, as obnoxiously loud as it was—at least it was incoherent, for the most part.

Simon managed to take Roach out of the bar; the latter's screams making up for the other's silence. He pulled the Sergeant over into an alleyway, about to let him go before deciding it wouldn't be the best of ideas and instead tightening his grip. "What—bloody hell, Roach, calm your arse—"

He never did get a word in, not a comforting one, or scolding. Roach was too caught up in his ridiculously extreme reaction to pay attention. Ghost opted to try speaking to him anyway. He muttered what he dearly hoped were soothing things into the other man's ear (when said man wasn't bashing his head back against the Lieutenant's face) as he walked him back to base, shins numb and balls just fucking thankful they hadn't been heeled as hard as the rest of his lower body.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I love drabbles, man. I love how short they are.

(even if when I write some I don't strictly adhear to the exact definition of "drabble," but I digress)

So chapter 3 is pretty much four "drabbles" put together.

This will be occurring often in Phobia, kthx.

P.S. I'm uploading all the pre-written stuff today. That's why I'm updating so quickly and SCHTUFF.

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**Kind Of Like Professional Wrestling**

It wasn't terribly difficult for Ghost to contain the little hurricane in his arms, save for the hitting and the screaming and the biting when the brunette tried to clamp a hand over said hurricane's mouth to silence him.

MacTavish had ventured out to help anyway, grabbing Roach by the waist and quite literally slamming him to the floor, forcefully holding him down. While the Scotsman had a hand on his neck, an arm on his back, and knees on the rest of him, Ghost couldn't help but wonder if it was really necessary to do all this.

But when the wild Sergeant somehow managed to get an unholy elbow into his Captain's crotch, Simon silently concluded that perhaps it was.

**Silence**

Ghost was mildly irritated with the complete disaster that was his attempt at getting Roach out and about. He and MacTavish had tag-teamed on Roach and restrained him until he slowed down enough to be lifted into the air without responding with a flurry of kicks or punches (after the Captain had recovered from the devastating blow to his package, of course).

MacTavish dropped him onto his bed and was adamant about warning Ghost to keep an eye on him. The brunette complied and the Scotsman left back to his quarters. The heavy silence that took place between Lieutenant and Sergeant was awkward.

**You Didn't Know?**

"Sir, I have a question."

MacTavish glanced up from the gun in his lap to address the man in front of him and furrowed his brow with acknowledgement, looking back down and continuing to polish the barrel wordlessly.

"What the hell is wrong with Roach?"

"Did you take him out to a pub last night?"

"Yeah?"

He paused, peering up at Ghost with a humorless smile as he put the gun aside. "You didn't know?"

Ghost scowled. "Know what?"

The Captain nodded knowingly and rose to his feet, tossing the rag back down on his bed and gesturing forward at the closed door across the hallway. "Roach has caligynephobia."

Pause.

"…Pardon?"

MacTavish snorted as he moved past the other man, inclining his chin at the door as he passed it. "He has a pathological fear of attractive women, Ghost."

He definitely didn't see that coming.

**Not The First One**

That morning, Ghost found Roach sitting in the break room alone with his chin in his hand and a vacant expression on his face. He acknowledged the Lieutenant's arrival with a casual nod, resuming his lack of activities and continuing on with said lack of activities even as the other man sat down opposite of him. A silence not unlike the one the night before threatened to settle, but Simon wouldn't have it. He cleared his throat to kill it off.

"Morning, mate."

"Morning, Ghost."

Long pause.

"…Sleep well?"

"Eh-eh."

Some regarded Roach's lack of wordiness as an admirable trait, assuming it kept him out of trouble more often than not. This was merely a myth, as very few of the Task Force had spent enough time around the Sergeant to know that whatever he usually _did_ say was what plunged him into trouble in the first place. In any case, his silence was what made him a horrible conversationist, and now was a prime example of this attribute.

Ghost shifted in his seat and leaned his elbows on the table, turning his gaze on the blonde. "Listen, Roach, I'm sorry. Really. I didn't know you were…scared of attractive…women." He finished deliberately, noting just how goddamn stupid this caligynephobia sounded but taking immense care not to point it out to the other man. Roach merely shrugged.

"I'll live. You're not the first one that took me out to a pub without knowing." He replied, voice flat as he stood up from the table and wandered towards the door. Ghost watched him for a few moments, and then piped up with, "Who was the first, then?"

At this, Roach paused, a look of thoughtfulness on his features as he pondered his answer. "Uh…Captain MacTavish and a few other guys. Price, maybe?" He gave a noncommittal shrug again, disappearing around the corner and leaving Simon Riley to wonder how and/or why the Sergeant was being so unusually casual about something that had him kicking and screaming the night before.


	4. Chapter 4: Not Now, Ghost

**Not Now, Ghost**

Roach's façade was working out alright. He acted like the bar incident was no big deal, but it was. He just didn't feel like showcasing his stress; that wasn't his game. He had been very careful not to show any visible recognition of Ghost's attempt at getting him out of the base, especially to the Lieutenant himself. Gary treated him more or less the same as he usually did, save the bit about being a bland, unresponsive jackass. Ghost knew something was up, that was certain, but so far he had left the whole thing alone. A few days passed and no one brought the subject up. Roach didn't even apologize for nailing MacTavish in the crotch—probably because he didn't remember actually _doing_ anything after the taut whores decided to rub their tits in his face at the bar. The Captain never brought it up.

A week after the incident, Shepherd brief them on their next mission; an operation in Russia that required the Task Force to split into teams of two. Roach was mildly unnerved at how quickly Ghost requested to be paired with him.

The Sergeant maintained complete silence throughout the entire trip to the drop-off point, only nodding and shaking his head when he was addressed.

"Roach," Ghost started, minutes after they had landed and split from the rest of the Task Force. The Sergeant slowed down and looked around at him, then out through the trees. "Patrol?"

Ghost shook his head with a snort. "No, mate. Nevermind." He waved a dismissive hand and continued on, leaving Roach to trail behind him with a suspicious air hanging over his head. _'Nevermind, my ass.'_ He thought bitterly, scrunching his face up behind his mask in an attempt to shake the cold off.

Neither said anything until the Lieutenant decided they would plant themselves at a small ridge and mount a pair of M14 EBRs. This was quite unlike Ghost, who was usually on the front lines, but Roach supposed that because this was a covert operation and stealth was their best friend until otherwise stated, he had opted for the quieter approach.

This, it turned out, was untrue.

"You know what I've been thinking about lately?" He asked in a low voice, glancing sideways at the lower rank. Roach shifted in the snow. "Dunno. Writing a romance novel?"

Ghost paused, a smile twitching under his balaclava as he shook his head. "No. Nice try though," He cleared his throat, one eye on his scope. "Nah, I've been thinking about what happened at the pub. How about I make up for it?" He suggested. It was Roach's turn to pause now.

"I'm fine if you don't, Ghost. Really." He said firmly, to which the Lieutenant made a noise of disapproval. "Bollocks. No one that's afraid of attractive women is _fine_."

Roach reared his head back to look over at Ghost, glaring through his goggles. "I've managed to survive this long with caligynephobia. It's not like it's some heart condition or brain malfunction. The hell makes you think I can't live the rest of my life with it?" He growled, turning his shoulder to face away from his Lieutenant as he put his eye back on the scope. Simon stared at him for quite some time, ignoring the obvious lack of respect for a higher rank and leaning over to nudge the other man. "You a virgin, bug?"

It took everything Gary had not to reach over and shove Ghost's headphones down his throat at the question. Instead, he immediately released his rifle in fear of accidentally pulling the trigger and leaned away from his partner. "We're on a mission, and you're worried about whether I've had sex or not?" He asked heatedly. Ghost merely watched with some kind of counted patience, waiting for an answer.

Roach's glare narrowed venomously as he lowered himself back down to look over the ridge, scowl visible under his mask. "No, I'm not a goddamn virgin." He grumbled, to which the other man nodded knowingly. A few moments of silence passed.

"…Are you gay, then?"

"Fucking serious?"

"Right, right, maybe later."

"_Armed patrol approaching from the south. Team one regroup with two and three. Sniper teams are relocating; you'll be without sniper support for approximately ninety seconds." _MacTavish buzzed in, to which both Lieutenant and Sergeant immediately rose to their feet and started down the hill. Once they reached level ground, crouched against several fallen trees for cover, Ghost jutted his chin out at Roach and held a hand up. "So when we get back to base, I figure we can start fixing this problem of yours as soon as possible." He spoke into his mic, even as the not-so-distant Russian cries grew louder and backed themselves with guns being loaded and the shuffling of movement in the snow. Roach flipped Simon the bird and put his attention on the white-clad men across the forest. The balaclava-sporting man went on anyway.

"First, we could try going…" He mused over the sudden burst of gunshots, making half-hearted gestures as he talked and seemingly ignoring the fact that he was being fired at. Roach was forced to listen to the crooning over his mic as he retaliated with his own shooting, finally halting his friend mid-sentence with a roaring, "NOT NOW, GHOST, NOT _FUCKING_ NOW!"

The masked man chuckled and turned away from the frustrated Sergeant, now beginning to focus on the matter at hand. He honestly wanted to help Roach, he really did. But the man was damn hard to rile up; so when Ghost uncovered the right buttons to push in order to provoke the bug, he was all for pressing them of his own free will. No innuendo intended. He just wanted to help the guy out, and when they returned to base, that was exactly what Ghost planned to do.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **I had to push through a major block to write this, so forgive me if any of it seems kinda...blaaand.

Also thought I'd take the time to say I love you guys. :D

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**One Week To Fix Him**

The mission turned out to be a success, as always. Nevermind the fact that Roach had emptied his ACR out on the Russians (even the dead ones) in what everyone could only assume was burning ire, nor the bit about Scarecrow getting kicked in the back of the knee by the Sergeant for mentioning his wife's new job as head manager of a department store, or Royce almost being pushed off the side of the cliff at the LZ because Ghost had told him to ask Roach about his night out. Among these, it was the mission's auspicious completion that really mattered most.

When the Task Force was back home, they decided to focus on the important things.

Once Roach had left the break room to brood in silence, Toad was the first to speak up. "Does anyone mind telling me why Sanderson's got such a huge stick up his ass?"

"Ghost took him out to a pub a few days ago." MacTavish answered, his back to the group sitting idly around the room. Toad was quiet for a moment, then broke into a sneer and turned toward the offending officer at hand. "What the hell were you thinking?" He snapped. Ghost gave a half-hearted shrug.

As Toad stood and opened his mouth to say something, MacTavish meandered over and waved a dismissive hand toward him, sitting down at the table. "Ghost wasn't here when it happened the first time, Toad. Calm down."

The burly American grunted as he sat down, leaning against the back of the couch tentatively. Ghost cleared his throat and offered a smile at his colleague, albeit invisible behind his balaclava. "Well, I know now. That's what matters. And I've got a plan to fix it."

He was met with immediate silence.

"Fix a phobia?" Royce piped up from the couch, turning to look around at the Lieutenant. "I don't know if you've heard, sir, but phobias take a pretty damn long time to fix. Roach's is especially extreme, too."

Scarecrow nodded in agreement, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his leg. "Yeah. It's out there, man."

"It'd probably take months to cure. Maybe years. Who knows? He's not interested in fixing it, that's for sure." Rook added.

Ghost shook his head, leaning forward to put his elbows on the table. "I've got plans. I've got ideas and I'm sure that at least one of 'em is gonna work," He paused, looking around. "But I need you blokes to help me out."

"No." Scarecrow replied.

"Shit no." Toad followed.

"No thanks." Royce and Rook voiced.

"No way in hell." Meat, Worm, and Ozone chorused.

"I'd rather not touch that sensitive of a subject. Sorry, mate." Archer muttered.

Price snorted. (Ghost assumed it was also a 'no')

"I don't see why not."

The occupants turned to address MacTavish at the table. He looked up and shrugged when he noticed all eyes on him. "Shepherd's given us a week off. Might as well use it trying to help Roach," He paused, taking an indolent sip of coffee. "Since none of you ever do anything productive anyway."

Ghost nodded and got to his feet, still smiling behind his mask. "Brilliant. We'll start in the morning, eh?"

He was out before Toad could throw his boots at him.

**Somewhere Else**

When Ghost returned to the room he shared with Roach, the latter wasn't in. The Lieutenant expected this, but he wouldn't go looking for his friend just yet. He might as well let the bug do his thing for another couple of hours, or at least until he cooled down enough to be approached. It was about 6 in the evening, so he figured he could catch a few winks between now and confronting Roach.

When he tossed his balaclava into the closet, he failed to notice that his black one was missing.

**In Which Most Of The Team Is Useless**

As soon as he woke up, Ghost was out and about to locate the Sergeant. By now, the majority of the squad was probably sleeping. The first place the brunette checked was the break room, but the only occupant was Archer, slumped over the table and snoring audibly. Ghost left with an understanding that Toad was likely to be one of the worst roommates in the world.

After a few minutes of half-hearted searching by himself, Ghost resorted to asking around. He freely made his way into Royce and Meat's room and questioned them about Roach's whereabouts, but both men were more asleep than they were awake and gave the Lieutenant jumbled, inexplicit answers as a result.

Rook and Worm's door was locked. Ghost knocked it down anyway, only to find that neither man knew where Roach was. He promptly put the door back on the hinges and left.

Scarecrow and Ozone gave different answers, and began to argue in that event.

"Think I saw him go to the break room after we all left." The latter mumbled.

Scarecrow shook his head at this. "No, man, I'm pretty sure he's in the locker room."

"Why would he be in the locker room?"

"Well, why the hell would he be in the break room?"

Ghost departed midway through their bickering.

He skipped Toad's room altogether.

His last resort was MacTavish's room. He rapped his knuckles on the door, mildly surprised to see Price standing there instead. "What?" He grunted. Ghost, now aware he had disturbed the captain's beauty sleep, decided to take this quicker than he had with the others. "I'm looking for Roach. Have you seen him?" He asked carefully. Price squinted and turned his head to look down the hall, jutting his chin in the indicated direction. "Last I heard, he was at the range with Soap."

Ghost thanked him and left before Price's animosity could drip onto his shoes.

**Tearing It Up**

Ghost ventured out to the firing range in no time. He spotted Roach crouched in a booth and made to move for him before a hand put itself on his shoulder and pulled him back.

"You'd be better off staying out of his sight until tomorrow, mate." MacTavish warned in a low voice. Ghost turned to look at him, cocking a brow. "Why?" The Scotsman pointed out down the range at Roach's chosen target, Ghost's eyes following suit.

The flat plank had a black, skull-patterned balaclava slipped over the head and "TWAT" spray-painted in lambent red over the rest of it.

Ghost wasn't amused.

MacTavish chuckled at his second-in-command's expression and nodded toward Roach's booth. "Tearing it up, that one is. He hit all the vital spots dead-on." Ghost supposed he should've been happy that he played a part in his friend's improvement.

The officers turned to acknowledge the sudden appearance of the discussed blonde. Roach stared at Ghost with an outlandish expression, grip tightening on the M4A1 in his hands. The Lieutenant started to say something, but was stopped by the other man lowering the gun and pointing it at him, mumbling unintelligible words. "Pardon?" Ghost inquired.

"I said get the hell out of my way before I shoot your John off."

Simon snorted. "You wouldn't dare."

Roach remained still for a spell, his face maintaining an uncharacteristic blankness, before lifting the gun and wordlessly making his way around the two men.

They quietly watched the Sergeant as he left. Ghost inclined his head toward MacTavish when Roach's back was out of sight. "I'm willing to bet he didn't shoot because you were here." He commented. MacTavish laughed. "Too right," He replied, glancing sideways at the Lieutenant. "You're really going to try fixing him?"

Ghost paused for a moment, then nodded. "Sure. Figure I owe him one. I'm just paying my dues as a good mate."

MacTavish dipped his chin and laughed again, walking after Roach with his arms folded across his chest. "If you say so, Ghost. If you screw up, though, I won't be around to stop him from shooting you."

Ghost accepted that as a risk he was willing to take.

**Sorry, But Not Really**

"Roach?"

'_Don't turn around. You're sleeping.'_

"You awake, bug?"

"No."

"…You just said that out loud."

'_Damnit.'_

Roach reluctantly turned over to look at Ghost standing in the doorway, narrowing his eyes. "Need something?"

Ghost shrugged. "Not that I'm currently aware of. Just wanted to check up on you."

The blonde scoffed, turning back around and burying his face in the pillow. "Thanks. Later."

Ghost scowled, but remained standing in his spot. If he somehow angered Roach again, he didn't want to be within leaping distance of the man. "Sorry for pushing it, bug," Roach tutted from his bed. Ghost added a quiet, "But not really."

Roach's head snapped around so quickly that the Lieutenant was impressed he didn't give himself whiplash. "'Scuse me?"

Simon made an indifferent gesture. "Well, I don't regret anything I did," He explained evenly, despite the Sergeant's worsening demeanor. "But I really am sorry."

Gary turned his torso and propped himself up on his elbows, furrowing his brow. "Seriously?"

"Swear on my life, mate."

He pondered Ghost's answer and the sincerity of his words. It wasn't like a true apology meant much to him at this point, but he had to give the man some credit, both as his best friend and his superior officer. Roach didn't normally hold a grudge for too long, and he figured Ghost wouldn't be an exception to that principle. Not yet, anyway.

"Okay. Apology accepted."

Ghost smiled casually and closed the door behind him, kicking his boots off and tipping his sunglasses up to rest on his head. Roach watched him meticulously as he made his way around the room, finally slipping into the bathroom and closing the door after him. Gary squinted and put his head back down on his pillow, exhaling a slow breath. He knew about the week off Shepherd had given the team, but wasn't very particularly interested in spending it out. He didn't want to go home, because if he was ever to return, he made it a point to stay at least a month or go back in a casket. He used the daunting latter thought as a reminder to write to his mother one of these days.

The Lieutenant reappeared with his gear in hand, carelessly tossing it into their shared closed and wandering toward the bunk. He offered Roach the same blasé smile as he hoisted himself up on the higher mattress and out of sight. "Sleep tight, bug." He crooned. Roach sniffed, raising his leg and nudging the mattress with his heel. "You too, Ghost."

He turned over on his side and shut his eyes, determined to get to sleep as soon as possible knowing that if he slept in too late, someone was bound to wake him up by whatever crude method they would come up with at the time. His appreciation for the amount of time he spent sleeping was reasonably emphasized since he joined the Task Force.

Thirty minutes, give or take, passed by in comfortable silence. Roach's consciousness was ready to slip out for the rest of the night before he was pulled back into vague motility by his good pal Ghost.

"Oi, Roach."

He grimaced into his pillow and shifted his head upward, eyes still closed. "What?"

"You never answered when I asked if you were gay."

His foot collided with the bunk so violently in a forceful kick that he heard the Lieutenant spit a lengthy string of curses under his breath and spotted a hand fly to the side of the mattress and grip tightly.

Ghost clammed up for the rest of the night and Roach fell asleep with a satisfied smirk on his face.

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**A/N: **SOOOOO, not much happened here. Just some transition filler and what have you. Next chapter'll get to the good stuff, I promise. :D


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